


one of the classic blunders

by judypoovey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Princess Bride, M/M, commitment issues, it's a princess bride AU, swashbuckling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judypoovey/pseuds/judypoovey
Summary: After his beloved body guard is killed by a legendary outlaw, Tyrion Lannister agrees to marry a northern princess at the behest of his manipulative sister. Unfortunately, the day before his wedding he is abducted by a strange trio of vagabonds, pursued by a Man in Black who seems intent on stealing him as well...(A Tyrion/Bronn Princess Bride AU)
Relationships: Bronn/Tyrion Lannister, Sandor Clegane & Arya Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey, remember how tyrion and bronn somehow ended up together at the end of the show, with no indication of either of them marrying despite both being high lords?? anyway i think about it all the time and this is what you get for it.

Once upon a time, there was a rich boy in a wealthy kingdom, a kingdom of long and beautiful summers and brutal but rare winters. During the summer, he got no greater joy in life than reading his books and tormenting the guard assigned to attend to him while his father was away, dealing with his royal sister.

"Guard," he said in a singsong voice. "Can you fetch me some firewood? I have a chill." 

The guard, a tall lanky dark haired man, scoffed. "As you wish," he said, an ironic twist to his voice. He got the firewood, and even built the fire, despite not being asked. It proceeded much like that for a while. 

It was a surprising day for young Tyrion when he realized that when Bronn said "as you wish", he meant "I like you." 

"Guard," he said. Being short of stature, he did actually need a little help with things from time to time. He wasn't  _ always _ being difficult. "Fetch the vintage my father hides on the top shelf," he said. 

"As you wish," he said.

And even more surprising when Tyrion realized he liked Bronn as well.

"We can share it, maybe," he said as Bronn handed him the wine, their hands lingering against the bottle, not quite touching.

They did share it, and for the summer that his father was away they shared a lot more than just wine, though mostly in secret, so that Tyrion's ambitious sister would not find out.

But as all summers do, the summer ended. Bronn, knowing that Lord Tywin's return would mean his death, paired with his own...hesitance...towards commitment, took work aboard a ship, promising to return when he had enough wealth to his name to leave Casterly Rock with Tyrion. Whether or not he meant to keep that promise, it hardly mattered.

As it usually does in these situations, tragedy struck swiftly, as his vessel was attacked by the legendary bandit The Lightning Lord, who takes no prisoners. The depression Tyrion fell into was deep and long-lasting. 

Five years passed, and winter bled into a new summer. Tyrion's nephew came of age to become the crown Prince of Westeros, and his sister Queen. Lonely and vulnerable, Tyrion allowed himself to be matched with Lady Sansa, a hostage from a northern kingdom. They would be married at dusk, and they were both deeply miserable. Queen Cersei hoped the match would bring the north to heel. She ruled with an iron fist; King Robert was a drunken fool. 

The only refuge Tyrion got from his sister's schemes and his nephew's ill-tempered tirades was in the Kingswood, where he could read without being harried, and only slightly spied on. 

"Excuse me, kind Lord," a thin man with a mustache and a shrewd look in his eye said. "We are circus performers lost on the road, could you show me the way to the city?" he asked.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, taking in the fine silk of the man's tunic and soft, uncalloused hands folded in front of him. The other two he could buy as circus performers: a man taller than he'd ever seen with a hood obscuring his face, and a surly young girl with a needle thin sword at her side. This man, however? No. Certainly not. 

"What are you truly?" he demanded, standing from the warm rock he had sat upon.

"Your captors," the big man growled, thumping him across the head.

Tyrion fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. 

"What are you doing with that?" the girl asked. The mustached man pulled a torn sigil from his pocket, attaching it to the saddle of Tyrion's horse and sending the creature running.

"It's a sigil from Winterfell. The crown will believe that the northerners have abducted Lord Tyrion in order to get Lady Sansa back," he said. "Especially when they find his corpse in northern territory," he added with a smug smirk.

"Oh great, another war," the big man muttered, lifting Tyrion up onto his shoulder as they disappeared out of the Kingswood.

  
  


They prepared to board their ship, tucked away in a cove off Blackwater Bay. "Littlefinger is such a cunt," the girl said to her tall companion.

"I heard that, Arry," the man called Littlefinger said, tutting paternalistically. 

"The worst cunt who ever lived," the tall man agreed.

"I'm  _ paying  _ you, Clegane." He was too short to really offer any intimidation to Clegane, but he poked him in the chest. "Do you want to go back to where I found you? Slobering drunk on a boat in the Iron Islands?" he asked. "And you? A gutter rat using a fancy sword to kill pigeons for food? Don't forget I'm paying you both. You can easily go back to being nothing!"

Arry and Clegane both snorted. "I never said I wouldn't do what you asked," he said with a roll of his dark eyes. "Bitch."

Littlefinger let out a wordless groan of frustration.

  
  


Tyrion awoke with his hands and feet bound. He felt the swaying of the ship before he saw his surroundings. The same three "circus performers" stood over him as he blinked in the starlight. "Blackwater." 

"Keenly spotted my Lord," Littlefinger said with a twirl of his mustache. "You're as intelligent as they say."

Tyrion didn't think figuring out what river he was on took any great wit. "And yet I cannot fathom why three circus performers would abduct me on the eve of my wedding and sail me north," he mused, trying to squirm into a more comfortable position. Sandor took mercy on him, picking him up so that he was sitting properly upright. "Thank you, good ser."

"Not a ser, little lion," he said. 

"Ah. Forgive me." With his new vantage point, he could nearly see over the side. He knew the waters, if only by the reputation he'd read in the books. _ Shrieking eels. _

As if on cue, the shrieking began. He wondered if his fate would be kinder with the eels…

"I wouldn't consider jumping over," Littlefinger said smugly. "We'll just fish your corpse out and the plan will continue. Your dead body will be found in northern territory and war will be renewed."

"Are we being followed?" Arya asked, looking off into the distance.

"Inconceivable. No one in the north knows we're coming, and no one in King's Landing knows what we've done yet. No one could have gotten to us so quickly."

But Arya continued to stare off behind them, the pinprick lights of torches on water illuminating the little ship as it sped to catch up with them. "It's gaining on us," he said.

"It makes no matter," Littlefinger said. "We've arrived at the cliffs, and no man can scale them. They'll sail for hours to find an alternate route."

The Cliffs of Insanity loomed large over them, a shoddy rope ladder already in place from earlier preparations. Littlefinger climbed at the top, with Arya following behind and Sandor carrying Tyrion strapped to his chest like a babe.

"My sister won't bear this insult gracefully, you know. I'm hers to torment, no one else's," he said loudly. "And when my brother and father return from the war..."

"They won't, they'll be too busy fighting the new war I've started," Littlefinger said. 

"We really are being followed," Arya pointed out in a snide voice. 

Truly, a man all in black had grabbed their ladder, and was climbing behind them, some feet below. His ship was moored below them, the very same they had seen while sailing. 

"Cut the ladder underneath you, Dog," he said. 

Sandor reached down with a dagger, and Tyrion felt the twisting sense of vertigo as he was forced to look down while he sliced the ropes. "Gods, it is high," he muttered. 

"Much to our pursuers tragedy," Littlefinger said.

They crested the cliffs and Tyrion was dropped from Sandor's chest like a sack of potatoes. He wheezed.

"He's still following," Arya said, peering over the edge. 

"Inconceivable," Littlefinger muttered.

"That's not what that means," the girl said in a rude voice.

"Take the little Lord, Dog," Littlefinger said. "You're good with that sword, yes?" He pointed at the girl. "He makes it to the top of the cliff, you kill him."

With that, Arya was left alone, watching Littlefinger and Sandor disappear through winding rock formations. She leaned over the edge again as she watched him climb. She had better things to do than wait for this. 

"This is very boring," she called in a singsong voice. 

"I'm sorry that I'm failing to entertain you. Maybe lower a rope or a branch or something?" he called back. As she looked down at him, he was clothed all in black, with a mask over his eyes. 

"I suppose I could." She held up the rope. 

"And you're not just gonna skewer me as soon as I reach the top?"

"On my honor as a Northman," she said.

"I've known too many northmen," he said contrarily. 

Arya, gripping the rope in her hands, frowned. "On the soul of my father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, you will reach the top alive," she said more solemnly. 

This seemed to satisfy the man in black. "Lower the rope."

She tossed down the rope and hauled him the final few feet to the top. The Man in Black stumbled, leaning against a rock, winded.

"You're young," he said of Arya.

"You're old," she shot back, sizing him up.

"Compared to you, anyone's old," he said. "You know how to use that, lass?"

"Do you?"

The Man in Black nodded his agreement. They sat in silence. "I like you, girl. You remind me of me."

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Is that an insult?"

"Depends."

"I suppose you're not a blond pinchy Lannister piece of shit," she said after a moment. The Man in Black presumed it was a compliment.

"No. You ask everyone that?"

Arya paused. "Joffrey killed my father," she said. "I have been training for three years to kill him. And I will look him in the eyes and I will say 'my name is Arya Stark. You killed my father. Prepare to die.' and I will kill him," she concluded, standing up. "Unfortunately I have to finish this job first, which means I can't let you pass. I do like you, I hate to kill you."

"A sad story, little lady," he said, standing as well. "I like you as well. I hate to die." 

The Man in Black drew his sword and their steel sang as it met. They were evenly matched, young and old. Arya showed off at every opportunity, vaulting from rock formations and swinging from vines. The Man in Black was more grounded, but fond of cheap shots.

"You don't fight nobly," she said, gritting her teeth.

"Neither do you."

"At least we're on the same page," she added.

But the fighting continued to a standstill. The Man in Black elbowed Arya hard into the ribs, and she spun into the dirt. Scraped and bloodied, she looked up at him reproachfully. "Go on then, kill me."

"What?" he asked with a laugh. "I don't kill little girls," he said. "But I can't have you following me, either. Wouldn't survive a second fight like that," he continued appreciatively. 

He brought the hilt of his sword down on the back of her head, and ran off when she hit the dirt. 

He followed the tracks of the giant down the winding road, continuing his hunt.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'll take the Imp," Littlefinger said, seeing the Man in Black crest a distant hill. "Arry's way didn't work. Yours had better." He poked Sandor menacingly, but the Hound did not rise to his baiting. 

"What the fuck is  _ my way _ ?" he asked.

"I don't know, hit him with a big rock. Rip his arms off." Littlefinger took Tyrion by the collar of his shirt and pulled him the rest of the way down the road, out of sight. Sandor sat on a big rock, pulling out his sword and contemplating it. 

The Man in Black approached shortly after, and Sandor was sitting, waiting for him. He didn't think he really felt like hitting him with a big rock. Who the fuck hit people with rocks, anyway? That wasn't a way real people fought. 

"So they went that way?" he asked, a little winded, pointing.

"I'm not supposed to let you pass," he said, standing up, two heads taller than the Man in Black. His burnt face was intense, but the Man in Black didn't scare easily, so they just looked at each other for a second. "You kill the girl?'

"What sort of monster kills a little girl?" he asked.

"Never much trusted men who wear masks," he said idly, taking a bite out of a chicken leg that he had seemingly procured out of nowhere.

The Man in Black tilted his head. "I suppose I couldn't convince you that I was burnt in a fire," he said in a dry voice, earning himself a glare from the big man.

"You gonna kill Littlefinger?" he asked as he looked down the road, not seeming like he cared a bit about anything going on. He mostly seemed to care about his chicken. 

"Probably."

"Then I won't stop you." Sandor stepped off to the side. "I'm tired of this stupid cunt and his stupid schemes. I don't feel like fighting." Instead, he turned back towards where Arya had been left behind, and went to go get his friend.

That was enough for the Man in Black, and he continued on his trek towards Littlefinger and Tyrion. 

  
  


"A great battle," Joffrey said fascinatedly, tracing the steps. "Two skilled swordsman, dancing against each other." Truthfully, the young prince knew nothing of warfare, or even basic swordplay, but none of the people who rode with him on the hunt for his kidnapped Uncle would ever tell him such, least of all his mother, who rode beside him on a white horse, her red riding gown sewn with lions. 

Joffrey looked up at her, proud of his own skills. "The defeated party ran back towards King's Landing. He must be ashamed. The winner kept going...towards the King's Road. Towards the north." He said that loudly and conspicuously. "I wonder, perhaps, if the northerners have abducted my dear uncle to bargain for the return of their Princess." 

"Perhaps. Those savage northmen are always acting outside of civility," Cersei said agreeably.

"We must press on, so that we might catch them before they reach the Neck." 

Littlefinger awaited the Man in Black, sitting on a conveniently placed downed log with Tyrion bound beside him. 

"My sister will kill you, you know," he said, confident not in his sister's love for him but her jealous possessiveness of everything around her, no matter how she disdained it. She loathed to be parted even with a dress she had declared hideous that same day, because it was  _ hers _ .

Littlefinger, who knew that his sister had coordinated this whole exercise, and would be happy to receive only her brother's corpse, shrugged. "Oh, well, you won't live long enough to see that, sadly," he said. 

The Man in Black approached, not looking particularly winded for someone who had just fought a brute as strong as Sandor supposedly was. "So you defeated my swordsman. And my giant. You're quite a man," Littlefinger said. "But you won't get what you want."

"No?" he asked, taking a seat across from the pair. "What is it you believe I want?"

"Why, you want to take what I've rightfully stolen," he said, gesturing to Tyrion. "This man is one of the richest in Westeros, surely you know that. You want to ransom him for yourself, while I have.. let's say, grander ambitions. You will not get past me."

"Are you the one who presumes to stop me?"

"I would never best you in combat, it's true. You're skilled and strong. But you'll never best me in a battle of wits." He crossed his arms and leaned back, a picture of confidence. "No man is cleverer than I." 

The Man in Black smiled. "Allow me to pick our battlefield, then, m'lord," he said, opening a satchel on his waist.

"By all means." 

The Man in Black grabbed the two wine goblets that Littlefinger had set out (apparently content to have a picnic while he waited for his hired goons to return), and turned away.

"The Strangler. One of the goblets is poisoned. Which one?" he said as he handed the goblet to Littlefinger.

"Ah. Truly a question. You have proven clever, else you never would have defeated the northern girl," he said. "So perhaps you mean to trick me from drinking out of my own goblet. Then, on the other hand, you must be very strong to have defeated the Hound, so perhaps you presume to power your way through the poison. An unconventional approach, truly." 

He rambled for some time like that, and the Man in Black and Tyrion both watched the mental gymnastics with a quiet sort of fascination. 

"Certainly, the wine would not be in front of you." He paused. "And you know I would know that, so then certainly the wine could not be in front of me!" He looked off to the horizon. "Oh, is that the Queen?" he yelped.

The Man in Black turned to looks and Littlefinger swapped the glasses.

"You are truly not as impressive as I thought you were. I just can't believe you've gotten this far without being stopped or captured. But I am where you made your fatal mistake --" Littlefinger was cut off mid-sentence, and Tyrion was startled to see the Man in Black standing over him, a dagger in hand. 

"Oh, I thought this was going to be some clever twist where you were immune to poison," Tyrion said, deadpan, as the man cut away his blindfold and his bindings and he saw Littlefinger on the ground with a bloody wound in between two ribs. 

"What? I don't have a fucking death wish, it's powdered honey," he said. "Poison thing was just a ruse." He downed the goblet and handed the other to Tyrion. "We should get out of here before your dear sister catches up."

Finishing the wine, Tyrion planted himself more firmly on the stump he used as a bench. "What reason should I have to go with you?" he asked.

Maybe he imagined the disappointed turn of the Man in Black's mouth. "So you want to go back? You miss your beloved princess so much?" he wondered.

"She's not my  _ beloved _ ," he said. The Man in Black dragged him up and set him on the path down the road. "But my sister will have her best men after me. There is no escape."

"Good thing none of them are better than me," he said. 

"Of  _ course _ ," he said, realization dawning. "You're the bandit, the Lightning Lord," he said. "You ransom people to their families. Leave no survivors if they don't answer your ransoms."

"You seem to know a lot about me," he said. The path was becoming steep, and in the distance he could see the dank swamps of the Neck. They were still headed north. 

"I made it my business to know. You took someone special from me, and he wasn't a rich man. No ransom would have been paid. So you killed him." Tyrion had never enjoyed talking about the last five years, the deep unabating loneliness he'd felt in Bronn's absence and the lengths he'd gone to, just to find any sliver of hope that the Lightning Lord might leave someone alive who didn't have money to pay him with. 

"Someone special, eh? Couldn't have been that special, given you set yourself up with a princess. How long did you wait? A week? A fortnight?"

Tyrion scowled. "Don't mock my pain, bandit. You know nothing of how unfair it has been."

"Who ever said life was fair? Where is that written?" he demanded. "Who was this special person? Your chef or something?"

"A sellsword. Born to nothing. Dark haired. Witty. Forgiving. A better man than you, certainly," he said, turning to storm off. 

"I remember this sellsword. He had thoughts of getting back to you, you know. He spoke of your faithfulness, I think, most of all. Sadly, I have a reputation to uphold. I guess it would spare him the pain of seeing how disloyal you've become."

He stopped and turned back to the Man in Black. "You don't know anything about it. I don't have a choice.  _ You _ took away my choice when you killed Bronn!" he said. Tyrion, having patiently endured being dragged around and tormented and mocked, did not think he could endure a second more of this. "So why don't you go die, too?" he demanded, kicking the Man in Black in the shins, hard. 

He stumbled back, and echoing down the hill, Tyrion heard it:

"Aaaaaas yooooooooou wiiiiiiiiish."

Wait.

" _ Bronn _ ?!" he yelped, and his attempt to run down the steep, rocky hill turned into a graceless tumble, and he landed next to his long dead ex-boyfriend. "You spent this whole time letting me think you were  _ dead _ !"

Bronn propped himself up on his elbow. "Well I had to make sure you even still liked me," he said with a smirk, his mask abandoned. It really  _ was _ Bronn, maybe a little more ragged around the edges.

Tyrion leaned up to kiss him, and hooves thundered in the distance.

"Your pissant nephew is following us, we should go."

"Into the Neck?!" 

"It's the only way," Bronn said, dusting himself off and taking Tyrion's hand, both of them running into the woods of the vast swamp.


	3. Chapter 3

"He felled the giant and assassinated Baelish," Joffrey said. "Now he descends into the Neck, with my beloved Uncle in tow."

"We'll never get through those swamps, we should go around," Cersei said, reining up beside him. "We don't have time to fumble through lizard lions and sinking sand. We'll meet them on the other side."

"Too right, Mother," he said.

They turned their hunting party around and doubled back. 

"It's not that bad in here," Bronn said appreciatively, using his sword to swat away encroaching vines and foliage. 

"Seriously?" Tyrion asked. 

"I'm not saying we should have a summer home," he said. "But the stories really oversell the dangers."

Tyrion heard the popping before he saw the shoot of flames, and barely had a moment to scramble away, his sleeve lighting up. "Shit, shit!" he said, slapping the flames out. 

Bronn 'hmm'd and they pressed on. 

"Where have you been all these years?" Tyrion finally had the courage to ask. "Obviously you didn't get killed by the Lightning Lord."

"Well, I did cross his path, it's true. Old Beric isn't all that frightful when you get to know him. He took the party I was in captive, and most of them died. He spared me, though. And every day he said "goodnight, Bronn, sleep well, I'll most likely kill you in the morning," but...well. A few years passed and he never did." They continued on. 

"So one day he comes to me and says 'Bronn, I'm going to retire,' and tells me that he wants me to take up the mantle of Lightning Lord. And so I did that for a couple o' years." The humidity in the swamp was oppressive, bugs humming all the while. "It was a good time. Robbing rich lords."

"So why come back?" he asked, just as he stepped into a pit of sand and sinking below the surface. 

Thinking fast, Bronn grabbed a vine, slicing it open and using it as a rope, diving into the sand as if it were the ocean. He wrenched Tyrion out of the sand with a groan.

He was still for a moment before he coughed, sand sputtering out as he heaved. Tyrion stared up at the dense canopy above him, catching his breath. "So you never said why you came back."

"I heard you were getting married," Bronn said, dumping sand out of his boots. "And I realized that I love you."

Tyrion sat up. "You what now?  _ Me _ ?"

"What? You think I'd leave my fucking profitable piracy gig for just  _ anyone _ ? I spent a lot of time thinking about it while I was out there and I knew I needed to make my way back, and then I heard your sister was marrying you off."

"I'm glad you admitted you love me before we die here in this fucking swamp," Tyrion said, sighing in defeat. 

"Oh we're going to be fine," Bronn said, leaning over to kiss Tyrion and then pull him to his feet. "There's a popping sound when the fire spouts ignite. Easy to ignore. The sinking sand has a distinct look. Easy to avoid. We'll be out of here in no time."

"But what about the lizard lions?" he asked. 

"Lizard lions? I don't think they exist," he said, as a lizard lion lunged for him and threatened to close strong jaws around his neck. 

Tyrion, panicking, found a large stick and tried to beat the lizard away.

Bronn gave the creature a few stern punches to the snout and it scuttled away, grumbling in pain. Tyrion watched it happily sink back into the quicksand. "Fucker."

"What were you saying about that summer home?" he deadpanned. Finally, they emerged through the thick trees and into the open air. They were free. 

Swords rang out as they looked up at the horses that encircled them. 

"Beloved sister, nephew," Tyrion said hesitantly. "How wonderful to see you."

Joffrey smirked. "Happy to come to your rescue, Uncle. Seize this scoundrel." His guards circled Bronn, but Tyrion stepped in front of him.

"Wait, wait," he said. "Do not do any harm to this man," he said. "He is a friend to me and deserves to be treated well. He has a ship in the Blackwater Bay. Return him to it, if you wish for me to cooperate with you." He paused. "Unless you'd want to jeopardize the northern alliance?"

Joffrey's nostrils flared and he looked to his mother and back to Bronn, who smirked gregariously. 

"Yes, my sweet. You take your dear uncle home to the Red Keep," she said. "I will see this dear  _ friend _ of his to his ship." 

Tyrion allowed himself to be hoisted onto the back of a gold cloak's horse. He cast a look at Bronn, who nodded, understandingly. But now that he knew the truth, that his affection had been returned all this time, he was loathe to be parted again.

He needed a way out of this marriage.

"You're a pinchy little fucker, aren't you?" he asked Joffrey before he rode away. The prince gawked, offended. "A friend of mine was looking for you." With that, he rode off, and Bronn was alone with the Queen and her men.

Cersei smirked down at the Man in Black. "I suppose you know I can't let you onto your ship. You'll just come back for him, won't you?" she asked, idly. 

"Suppose I will."

"We'll have to take him to Qyburn," she said, and her nearest guard brought the hilt of his sword down on the top of Bronn's head, dropping him to the ground. 

Tyrion stared out the window, morose. Sansa was staring out of a second window, equally morose. "How are we going to get out of this?" 

"What if we just refuse to speak when they take us out there?" she asked, sadly.

"I can't imagine what they'd do to us if we didn't go along with this Mummer's Farce…" Tyrion had hope, though. Bronn had said he loved him, right? That was a lot, for them. Tyrion had probably never told anyone he loved them in his entire life. He would come rescue him, and Tyrion didn't think it would take much for him to convince him to take Sansa with them. 

"I had a true love. I did. But when my father died…" 

Tyrion sighed, reaching out to touch her hand. I think I might have an idea." 

  
  


A drip of water. Bronn awoke, groggy, looking up at a stone ceiling, aware he couldn't move. He was strapped in. Fuck. A face swam into focus, a gray haired man with a kindly air when he smiled. 

"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded.

"Qyburn. I'm Cersei's...technician," he said, pleasantly. 

The Queen appeared above him too, smirking. A Lannister smirk if there ever was one. He had to get out of here. He needed to not die in this hole in the ground. "Qyburn's mechanism is quite fascinating. He can take a year off your life with just the flip of a switch," she said, running a delicate finger across his exposed chest. 

Involuntarily, he shivered. 

He heard the flip of the switch before he felt the immediate sucking sensation, as the life drained out of him. He groaned in pain, determined not to scream. The switch flipped again and...well, he couldn't stop himself from screaming that time. 

"You don't have to take it so easy. You can kill him," she said idly. 

  
  


Tyrion hoped his plan was going to work, but it hardly mattered. Bronn would come for him. 

Joffrey was leaning in the door, smirking smugly. "Mother is going to kill your outlaw," he said. 

"I doubt it," he said, trying not to sound unsettled. Bronn had survived the impossible before, right? 

"Neither of you are getting out of here. Mother will not let you shame our family."

"The only shame to your family is your disgusting and terrible demeanor, you toe-faced swine," Sansa said, bristling under her stoic demeanor. 

Joffrey turned an ugly puce color. "I would not speak to your Prince in such a way," he said, his voice turning into a shriek. He slammed the door behind him, and Tyrion and Sansa traded a sidelong glance, stifling giggles. 

In the Kingswood, Sandor leaned against the side of a hut, drunk and despondent. Littlefinger had died before he'd gotten paid, but what coin he'd found on Littlefinger's exsanguinated corpse had at least been enough for some ale. 

Arya stalked into view. "What the fuck are you doing?" she demanded. 

"Drinking!"

"We need to go find the Man in Black," she said. 

"Why?" 

"Because I'm not going to be able to avenge my Father without him, he's smart enough to kill Littlefinger, that means he's smart enough to get us into the castle." 

"We can get into the castle on our own." 

Arya rolled her eyes. "If you hadn't spent all this time getting slobbering drunk you'd know the Queen put a dozen guards at the gate. I can take three, you can take five, and that leaves four more. We need backup." She picked up a barrel of cold water, dumping it over her drunk companion's head. 

Sandor shook his hair out. "We don't even know where that idiot is." 

A scream shattered the noise of the Kingswood, and Arya turned her head. The pain in the scream was like nothing she'd ever heard before, and it sent a chill through her. "That sound. It's the sound of a broken soul." 

Sandor snorted. "What the fuck?"

"It's the sound my heart made when my father died," she said, and Sandor grew a little sterner. 

"We'll find him, then, I suppose," he said unwillingly. As they searched through the forest, and as the rabble were driven out by the gold cloaks, they found no sign of the Man in Black, but they did find a black robed man, with gray hair, rolling a wheelbarrow across the woods. 

"We're seeking a man," Arya said, dropping down from a tree branch into the man's wheelbarrow, startling him. "A man in Black." 

The old man raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what you speak of." 

Sandor raised his sword threateningly. "I know you're the Queen's attack dog," he said. "Show us where she put the Man in Black or I'll cut you in half." 

The old man took pause at his sword, and sighed. "It's too late, so I'll show you," he said, and he took a branch and touched it to the knot of a gnarled old tree. A door opened in the trunk of the tree, and as they stared down into the dungeon below, Sandor brought his fist down onto the old man's head. He collapsed into the dirt, and then kicked him under the wheelbarrow and descended into the dungeon. 

The Man in Black laid on the table, dead. 

"We're too late," Arya said, kicking a rock. 

"Unstrap him, I know what to do," Sandor said sternly. Arya used her sword to sever the leather straps and Sandor lifted the body of the Man in Black over his shoulder. He carried him out of the dungeon like he weighed nothing, and guided Arya out of the woods and into the city below the Castle. 

It was a small house, tucked into the street of steel. A man swung the door open, immediately stinking of rum and stale tobacco. He was an odd man, cloaked all in red, with a certain ageless quality to him, his hair tied in a top knot above his head.

"Thoros, I need your help." 

"Lord, nothing ever starts well when I hear that," he said. "Lay him down on the table, then." 


	4. Chapter 4

"He's dead," Arya said plainly, even as Sandor tossed the Man in Black down. "What are we even doing here? This is just Robert's drunk friend that Joffrey kicked out of the Castle," she said, pointing an accusing finger at Thoros. 

"Don't say that name."

"What? Joffrey?" 

He made a loud noise of protest. "Look, your friend here only happens to be mostly dead, and mostly dead, we can work with," he said, patting Arya on the head. First, he pounded on the Man in Black's chest. "What is it that means you need to come back, eh?" he yelled at the corpse, slapping him a couple times. 

The Man in Black let out a wheeze that sounded like "true love" to anyone's ears.

"See, true love!" Arya said. "That's a worthy reason to bring someone back, right?" 

"It would be if that was what he'd said," Thoros said. "He clearly said "to blave!" He pointed at Sandor. "Which means 'to bluff'! So does he owe you money?" 

"No. You do, though."

"Stop lying!" A redheaded woman glided into the room, clutching a teacup in one hand and pointing menacingly with the other. 

"Leave me alone, witch," he said, waving a hand at her. 

"I'm not a witch, you've been squatting in my house for six months because Joffrey and the Queen kicked you out of the castle!" she said. 

"Do your weird magic, Thoros, before I knock your head clean off your shoulders," he growled.

"I'm not scared of you, Sandor. What's in it for me?"

"Well I'm going to kill Joffrey when I get inside, but we need his help to get in," Arya said.

"Well why didn't you just say that in the first place!" he said, clapping her on the shoulder. "I have just the thing." He hurried to the other room and came out with what looked like a grape coated in something shiny and mildly viscous. 

Thoros set it on fire and shoved it in the Man in Black's mouth. 

"What the hell!"

"It helps it go down easier," his roommate said, shrugging. The fireball didn't seem to have any ill-effect on him, indeed, and they all waited in silent anticipation for it to work. For a moment it didn't seem to have done anything, until the Man in Black started coughing. Sandor pulled him into a sitting position and he fell limply against the big man's side.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"King's Landing. You were dead," Arya said. 

His head limply swiveled over to her. "Why can't I move?" 

"You were dead five minutes ago," she said. "Maybe it just takes some time to catch up with the rest of your body."

"We don't have time, the wedding is tonight," Sandor said. "If we're going to kill Joffrey, we have to do it soon." Arya nodded agreeably, and the Hound hoisted the Man in Black off the table. "What's your name, mask guy?" 

"Bronn."

"All right Bronn, you're going to help us get into the Red Keep so we can kill that fucking idiot Joffrey," he said. "And as a bonus, we'll help you save the Imp." 

"How? I can't move," he said.

"We'll just have to improvise I guess," Arya said. "It would be great if we had a wheelbarrow," she continued. "Didn't the old man have one?" 

"Yeah...." 

Arya set out to the Kingswood to get the discarded wheelbarrow, leaving Bronn and Sandor to drink a few ales with Thoros in the meantime, which ended in a knife throwing contest that broke two windows and resulted in Melisandre finally kicking them out. 

The Hound dumped Bronn into the wheelbarrow and they found a vantage point of the front gate leading up to the Red Keep. A fat man in floral patterned armor led the guard of two dozen men. 

"That's more than you said there'd be," Sandor scolded. "And he can't even fucking move!"

"Then we'll have to improvise."

"He's dead," Cersei gloated as she led her younger brother into the Sept, the evening he was to be wed. "Your Man in Black is dead and you'll marry Sansa Stark and win the north for me." 

Tyrion didn't want to believe it. Bronn would come for him, he knew it. Death wouldn't stop him. It hadn't stopped him before!

He walked up the aisle, trying to quell his anxiety. 

Tyrion and Sansa stood before the Septon, both resplendently dressed and miserable. Tyrion hoped his plan would work, and that they would spared this indignity as long as they played their part. He reached for Sansa's hand, and she returned the gesture.

"Marriage is what brings us together. In the light of the Seven, we stand here to unify these two…" He spoke painfully slowly, enunciating every word. Cersei and Joffrey looked irritated, and Tyrion knew he might be able to get away with this. "The Father looks down upon them justly...the Mother blesses their union…" He paused to take a breath.

"High Septon, ser, my lord," Tyrion said, cutting through. "Could we speed this up?" 

The High Septon cast a demeaning glare at him. "May the Maiden grant them many children…" He sped up a tiny bit, but certainly not enough. 

"Can you just get to the part where we say "man and wife"?" Tyrion demanded loudly. 

"Oh, Uncle is so enthusiastic to wed. He knows it's the only chance he'll ever get," Joffrey said with a gloating laugh. 

A bang and a commotion in the hall. 

"My prince! The gate!" a guard called.

"Man and wife!" the septon said, irritated. 

"Oh good, we're married," Tyrion said, grabbing Sansa's hand and speeding from the Sept. They stumbled out back towards the Keep as Joffrey sped by the time see the source of the commotion. 

Climbing off the wheelbarrow and discarding a slightly singed cloak, Arya looked satisfied as they entered the keep, the guards scattering in shock at the sight of her floating in the air. In the keep, people ran about in fear and confusion, and she was going to find Joffrey. She looked over her shoulder to where Sandor was still carrying Bronn. She saw the glimpse of yellow hair. 

There he was. 

She chased after him, and he slammed a locked door in her face. 

"Sandor! Hound! I need you!" she yelled as she battered the door. 

Sandor dropped Bronn onto the hard stone ground to go and assist his friend. It only took a few firm strikes to open the door. "Go find Tyrion and my sister!" she demanded. "Help Bronn!" Then she disappeared around the corner and Sandor walked back over, and the corner where he dropped Bronn and found it conspicuously lacking a man in black. 

"Oh what the fuck," he muttered, stalking down the hallway looking for his stupid allies. 

Tyrion and Sansa found themselves in his room. She slammed the door behind them and Tyrion rushed to pack their things. 

"Well, she's very pretty, I understand why you might put me aside," a voice from the bed said. "Happy wedding night." 

"Bronn!" Tyrion said, diving onto the bed and grabbing his very alive love. "Cersei said you were dead." 

"Oh well, it's harder than that to kill me," he said, groaning in pain at the contact. 

"We aren't married, I swear it," he said. "I rushed the Septon, we never said the words. I knew I had to do something…" he said. His plan had been foolproof. Joffrey was too fool to pick up on the subtleties and it would be too late before Cersei realized it. 

"A genius plan," he said. 

The door slammed again. Cersei walked in, brandishing a dagger. "You won't spoil my plans." 

  
  


Arya slammed into Joffrey before he could get away, knocking him to the ground. The sword skittered away from his hand, but he grabbed it and turned around to meet her blow. 

"The northern girl," he said, smirking smugly.

"Arya Stark!" she said, her face screwed up in anger. "You killed my father!" 

Joffrey was not as skilled a sword fighter, but he was managing to defend against her, using chairs and tables to keep them apart as he tried to scramble away. 

She cut into his calf and he stumbled to the ground. Arya dove for the final blow but the steel met her side, blood splattering across the stone floor as she let out a little gasp of pain. 

Joffrey shoved her to the side and kicked her while she was down, more blood across the paving stones. Arya dragged herself to her feet and lunged again.

"You're going to die like this and not even avenge your father!" he mocked. She met his every blow, though, and his confidence cracked as she pushed him further into the wall.

"You killed my father! Prepare to die!" she snapped through gritted teeth. 

Cowardice creeped into Joffrey's voice. "I was just doing as Mother said! Don't kill me!"

"I'll spare you," Arya lied. "offer me anything. Money. Jewels."

"Lands, titles, anything!" he sobbed. 

She jammed her sword in between two ribs, blood flowing freely over her hands. "Where is my sister you son of a bitch?" she growled out, stumbling away, sticky with blood and nearly exhausted. 

  
  


Cersei brandished the dagger at the three of them like a caged tiger. 

"Cersei you've lost, put it down," Tyrion said in a calming voice.

"I never lose!" she cried. "You're no threat to me and he can't even stand!" she said. "You'll be married properly and die so the north passes to me! That was the plan! You cannot spoil it!"

"You'll never have the north," Sansa protested. 

Bronn pulled himself out of the bed. His legs felt like jelly, his arms barely strong enough to lift his sword. "When the High Septon gets ahold of you, do you know what they'll do? he asked.

Cersei lifted her chin. 

"Strip you naked and send you through the streets of the city. They'll shave you bald from head to foot. You'll walk til your feet bleed. And all you'll hear through the tears is...Shame." He said this so boastfully confident that Tyrion forgot he'd never seen anyone do such a thing, in the history of ever. "Or you can drop the knife." 

He gestured with his sword, and Cersei dropped back into the chair. 

"Tie her up," he told Sansa, as he stumbled, only narrowly caught by Tyrion. 

"You're still weak," he said, concerned. 

"At least she didn't know that," he said, kissing the top of Tyrion's head as Arya burst in, bloody. 

"Sandor isn't here?" she asked, taking in the sight of the tied up Cersei, and her sister tying the knot.

"Oy! Cunts!" Someone yelled from the window. Sansa, being the only one not injured, exhausted or used as a support, ran to the window and saw Sandor, a gaggle of horses behind him. 

And -- 

"Podrick?!" Sansa cried, delighted. 

A young man dressed all in black, sitting astride a horse next to a large, formidable woman and a slight man with dark hair waved. "Princess Sansa!" he called. "I've been looking for you."

"She did say she had a true love," Tyrion said, watching Sansa jump daintily out of the window. She might have been flying, safely into the arms of the Hound, who deposited her on a white horse. 

"Jon!" Arya yelled down, and the other young man looked up. "I avenged Father!" 

"Less yelling out of windows and more escaping, please," Bronn said, shoving Arya before she could finish her jump. Sandor caught her easily, but she was in pain, so he let her share his horse. 

  
  


And when dawn arose, they were free, the country spreading out before them. Sansa threw her arms around her true love, a young lad who had been a deckhand on Bronn's own ship, training for the day he returned to his lady. It was quite obvious he had been the protagonist of his own adventure. 

And Tyrion leaned over and found Bronn for one of the best kisses recorded. Not the purest or most wholesome, mind you. Just a really good kiss. Sandor covered Arya's eyes. True love was a mysterious and not always child friendly thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin.


End file.
